


a good study

by lurkingspecter (orphan_account)



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: M/M, Pining, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2019-11-17
Packaged: 2021-02-08 03:34:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21469396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/lurkingspecter
Summary: Spock finds out about one of McCoy's hobbies.
Relationships: Leonard "Bones" McCoy/Spock
Comments: 3
Kudos: 107





	a good study

**Author's Note:**

> prompt: drawing

Spock was in sick bay because he had once again seen fit to throw himself between an incoming projectile and their captain. The injury hadn’t been too bad, just a ding on the head that had knocked him out for a bit, but Bones had decided to keep him in sick bay under observation for a bit, just in case he had a concussion. Spock had argued against the idea. Bones had threatened to tie him to a bed. Jim had gotten involved, and finally Spock had agreed to stay, but for no more than a few hours.

Now, Bones sat behind his desk in the adjacent room, sketching idly. Other than Spock’s little misadventure, it had been a mercifully slow day, and aside from a few complaints of sore throats and sniffles there hadn’t been a lot for him to do.

He was thinking of the look of puzzlement on Spock’s face when he had first regained consciousness. The slight frown, the way that his eyebrows pressed together as he looked around, trying to figure out how he gotten back on the starship. And then he had seen Bones, and his face had relaxed into its usual placidity.

That puzzlement was what he was trying to capture now. He had what could be generously called a fixation with Spock’s microexpressions, those flickers of emotion which showed that Spock did, in fact, feel something, even if the Vulcan part of him was loathe to admit it. Bones told himself that he did this out merely out of psychological curiosity. If it also gave him an excuse to ogle Spock’s high cheekbones and graceful lips, then that was only a side benefit, and one borne of an appreciation for aesthetics and nothing else. He was a doctor. Why shouldn’t he appreciate other people’s anatomy?

He paused, looking over his work, and was about to put it away when a shadow fell over the page.

“May I take a closer look at that, doctor?”

His heart jumped into his throat. He turned to find Spock standing behind him. Evidently, he had finished reading all the latest scientific journals on the ship’s computer and had wandered over to see if he could logic his way out of spending any more time here.

Bones swallowed. This would only be more awkward if he refused, he realized.

“Go ahead,” he said, as casually as he could manage, and handed it over. Spock studied it for a minute.

“This is quite a good likeness.” He raised an eyebrow. “I had no idea that you were an artist.”

Bones shrugged. “I dabble.”

He held his hand out for the pad but Spock, absorbed in his study of the image, didn’t notice. He flipped to the page before that one and frowned. It was another drawing of him, this time from the side, his face angled downward, illuminated by a screen. He flipped to another page. Spock again. Both eyebrows shot up. He quickly flicked through the rest of the pad, and handed it back to Bones.

“Approximately eighty-five percent of these sketches are of me,” he said. His hands were clasped casually behind his back, his face tilted to the side in silent question. He didn’t seem offended, only curious. “Why?”

“You make a good study, that’s all,” Bones said gruffly.

“Is that so?”

“Yeah. You’ve got an”—Bones gestured vaguely at his face—“interesting bone structure.”

“Ah, yes. I remember. In the past, high cheekbones were thought to be attractive in many subsets of your culture.”

Bones felt his face warm at the word _attractive_.

“That’s not it.”

“What is it, then?”

_Your soft, unblemished hands; your dark eyes; the long, lean lines of your body; the way that you hold yourself, as poised and graceful as a cat; the way that you look at me sometimes and I can’t tell if I’m going crazy or if maybe, just maybe, you actually—_

Bones stood up suddenly and dropped the pad on his desk.

“I’m not gonna sit here all day and stroke your ego, Spock. Don’t you have something else to do?”

Spock’s eyes glittered.

“Am I free to go then, doctor?”

The idea of having to watch him for another two hours after this interaction gave Bones a headache. He sighed and waved a hand toward the door.

“Yeah, yeah. But if you pass out again I don’t wanna hear anyone complain to me about it.”

“I assure you, I will take full responsibility if such a thing occurs.”

He left. Bones dropped into his chair and rubbed his forehead. He thought of that last look in Spock’s eyes, a look that he could almost swear was meant to be _teasing_.

He bit his lip. He opened his drawing pad again.

Surely, one more couldn’t hurt.


End file.
